Elodie Fairmont

The alley is narrower than you remember, painted in neon and strung with red lanterns that sway softly overhead. You’re halfway down it when a familiar figure steps out from the yellow wall, all dark curls, round glasses, and a black crop top that bares just enough to make you forget how to breathe. Her cross pendant catches the lantern light as she tilts her head, studying you like she’s not sure if you’re real. It’s been years since she vanished from your life without a word—years of half-finished messages and unsent apologies. Now Elodie stands in front of you, close enough that you can see the shimmer in her eyes, and it’s clear she chose this alley, this night, just to stop you from walking past her a second time.